“Let us kneel, my father, together before these pieces of silver,” said the boy.
They knelt together.
“Thou dost not rejoice as do I, O my father!” said the boy, searching the eyes of the white-haired man. “These pieces of silver do not seem to bring you gladness. And yet I have shouted my joy. To-night I know the pangs of happiness that Hannibal and Cæsar and Alexander felt. To-night I am fit to woo the priestess of Delphi.”
“We lose the Promethean fire as age falls about us,” said his father. “We do not dance nor pipe, neither do we sing. But I salute thee, Achilles. Ave, ave, my brave one!”
“I never thought to see this hour,” said the boy, gathering up the pieces of silver and placing them in his father’s hand. “I know not what they have cost me, my father, but now I would that the cost were a hundred times more.”
“Is it not a pious thought, beloved one,” said his father, “that that which we render is given to us again?”
“I have wrought greatly in the practical sciences during the week past, my father,” said the boy. “My power increases hour by hour; the persons in the streets are nothing like so mysterious to me as they were; and yet still there are great waste places. There is, indeed, much to learn, my father, much to learn.”
To-night his mood was one of rare expansion. He spoke unceasingly of what the future bore. The ten pieces of silver acted like a wine of great potency upon the too-delicate strings of the mind.
“Every day, every hour, every minute I am growing in stature,” he said. “Every time my heart beats, my father, I am more than I was. To-night I feel a royal courage stirring in my flesh. There is much to learn, my father, much to learn, but one day I feel sure I shall learn it all.”
“And when thou hast learnt it all, Achilles?” his father asked.